


Sunday mornings

by scrapbullet



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-11
Updated: 2011-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:46:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His fingers pinch at a peaked nipple and he - the lover, that is, with a strong jaw and an aquiline nose - scowls. It suits him, even if the illusion is ruined by the laughter in h is eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday mornings

**Author's Note:**

> For my dear the_me09; who is ever the recipient of my rubbish. And wanted lazy fluff. Tada!

"What are you-"  
"Nothing. Just, hold still dammit-"  
"Ow! That hurts."

Sunday mornings. Such is life.

Picture the scene. There is a man, sprawled lazily on his back as nude as the day he was born - though decidedly more well endowed - and there is another, idly carding his fingers through chest hair that is deceptively soft, dark and dense.

"You're such a baby," one says, and his smirk is mischievous as he glances up at his lover. His fingers pinch at a peaked nipple and he - the lover, that is, with a strong jaw and an aquiline nose - scowls. It suits him, even if the illusion is ruined by the laughter in his eyes.

Mark doesn't even deign such a remark with a reply.

Hans, for that's his name, rests his chin on Mark's chest with a soft huff of laughter. Cocking his brow he pulls at those hairs one by one, and every flinch is a treasure. For several moments they lay like this, with Mark's false scowl deepening and his lips twitching until finally, something snaps. Flipping Hans over and pinning him down Mark gives him a damn good seeing to; slender fingers dancing over bare ribs until Hans is laughing so hard he can barely even breathe.

"Still think I'm a baby, hm?"

"Not a baby, no," Hans purrs, and his lips brush against Mark's with salacious intent, "but a teddy bear? Sounds about right.”


End file.
